


Day And Night

by idiom



Series: Focus. Commitment. Sheer will. [1]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Or can be read as a prequel to A Change Of Plan, Pre-Canon, Sexual Tension, Smut, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 15:31:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiom/pseuds/idiom
Summary: Bored and in need of a vacation, Santino managed to whisk his dour new bodyguard away to Venice. He had convinced John pretty easily, so that was a plus. If he could convince the man to do other things, well, double plus.—Set about fifteen years pre-canon, when John Wick worked for the D'Antonios.





	Day And Night

**Author's Note:**

> This can definitely stand alone, but I wrote it as a prequel to A Change Of Plan. So read that next if you want more. <3   
> —  
> More John/Santino~ More smut~   
> More Italian~ Like seriously there’s a lot.  
> This has been a little addition to my language practice everyday before my trip. I feel like this much language practice for a two week trip is probably unnecessary but I’m going back next year too so meh… linguistics yay~ :P

  
—

It was usually fun watching his underlings squirm while they tried to explain their accounts, but today, Santino was just bored. 

Because really? Had his father actually flown him all the way up North just to deal with this snivelling Milanese Capo? The man was barely functional, how on earth had he been allowed to run even the tiniest piece of their criminal empire, Santino did not know.

How are you? Where the fuck’s our money? That was how these meetings usually started, polite, but to the point. They always ended one of two ways: blood or bargaining.

Santino sighed because his father had ordered him to allow this particular Capo to take the second of those two paths. Apparently killing their connections after every fuck up meant they had less connections and still didn’t get their money, who knew.

While the man before him blubbered on with his stark Milanese accent, Santino’s gaze rolled and shifted out of boredom. His eyes met those of his guard at the door. The man was staring right back at him, though as soon as they locked eyes, he blinked and dropped his gaze to a spot on the desk Santino was occupying.

Santino smirked.

John Wick. The solemn assassin had been working for his family for a few somber months now, since Santino finished university and started working in the family business full time. Notorious as John Wick was in their world, Santino had scoffed at the thought of more protection back when they first brought him on. He had Ares, and she’d done a good enough job so far. There had been a few close calls, he’d been grazed by a bullet, sure, but he was alive and everyone fucked up once in a while.

Except John Wick, apparently. 

Ever since he’d become a permanent fixture at Santino’s side, there hadn’t been a single incident. Not one. They heard rumours every once in a while, but those rumours were soon followed by obituaries. Santino wasn’t sure if it was that John was just that good, or if the man’s mere presence really was that much of a deterrent. Either way, John was a machine, a clockwork soldier. If you gave him a task, it would be done. No matter the odds.

“ _ Basta _ ! Enough!” Santino cut the snivelling coward of a Capo off, earning himself a choked sound. “You’ll get us our money with interest, or it will be my friend here visiting you next.” Santino nodded to John who didn’t move an inch even when the scared looking Capo turned to him with a look of horror. “Mister Wick doesn’t share my views on clemency.  _ Capisci _ ? Understand?”

The Capo swallowed. “ _ Si. Grazie, Signore D’Antonio _ . Yes. Thank you.”

“ _ Vattene.. _ . Get out...” Santino waved a hand in the air, shooing the man away like a bug. 

He shuffled out, shrinking away as he passed John to get to the door. Everyone in the business knew John Wick as a nice enough guy if not a bit terrifying. But if he was coming after you… well… you could always hope for a quick death. A professional courtesy.

‘Do you want me to have someone follow him, boss?’ Ares signed. The blond was standing opposite John on the other side of the door frame. The two had done their best to avoid each other the past few months, though it wasn’t really John’s fault, he avoided most people equally. Ares, on the other hand, had taken John’s hiring as a personal slight against her and how she was doing her job. 

That wasn’t the case, of course, not totally anyway. Ares was young. John had much more experience and the elder Signore D’Antonio wanted the best to protect his legacy.

Santino allowed his gaze to shift over to John once again as he answered her. 

“Yes, but keep a distance. He’ll pay soon enough. If he doesn’t, I’ll have John here make good on that threat.”

Ares looked over at John, sneering slightly while the larger black-clad man simply nodded.

With a small salute, Ares followed the unfortunate Capo out the door, leaving John and Santino alone in the office.

As soon as the door closed, Santino let out a heavy breath and sank into his chair. He tapped his fingers against the wooden arm, still staring at John who in turn seemed intent on staring at a spot straight ahead of him with a soldiers focus.

“Mister Wick,” Santino drawled his surname, if only to grab the man’s attention. When John looked over at him curiously, Santino grinned like a wolf. “Were you given any other tasks to perform while we are here in Milan?”

John’s brow creased and he shook his head. “No.”

“You’re sure?” Santino drawled. John was always at his side, but every once in a while the man would ghost out of existence. Santino knew there was more in his contract than just protection, but his father had spared those details.

John nodded slowly. 

Their power wasn’t being threatened at the moment then. 

“ _ Bene _ . Good,” Santino stood suddenly, straightening his vest and tugging at his lapels. “Well, I think I deserve a holiday, don’t you?” It was a hard job coming up with threats vague enough to insinuate a torturous death without being direct enough to cause their associates to flee the country. 

John raised a brow and glanced towards the door where Ares had departed. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Santino mimicked his expression. “And who exactly do you work for?”

There was a pause, before John replied, “Technically, your father.”

“Well, he hired  _ you _ to protect  _ me _ ,” Santino purred, stepping up to John until he was just an inch away from the taller man, pressing a too delicate finger to his chest. He’d been flirting with John for weeks now, but the man was like ice. Every time Santino took a pick to his walls, said anything even remotely suggestive, John always replied the same way:

“Santino…” 

There it was. The iceberg’s groan.

“John… How will you protect me from here when I’m all the way over in Venice, hm?” Santino said, straightening John’s tie, enjoying the warmth radiating off his chest as he did. “You’ve never been to Venice, have you?”

John shot him a cold, deadpan stare. For a long while, he held that expression, until a heavy sigh escaped him. He nodded.

“I’ll drive,” he muttered. He had always wanted to see Venice.

A grin split Santino’s face and he clapped his hands. “How exciting!”

—

The drive in and out of Milan was hellish, as always, but it was worth it. After three hours through the Italian countryside, they finally arrived at the coast and drove over the long bridge into Venice. It was February so the flood waters were low and the tourists hadn’t quite started to replace them. They left the car in the VIP section of the parkade and took a boat through the Grand Canal.

Santino insisted they stay in San Marco, taking up residence in a private villa he’d managed to book on a moment’s notice. As they entered, Santino handed the doorman a small stack of gold coins.

“ _ Benvenuto, Signore D’Antonio, Signore Wick _ . Welcome,” the old man said as he opened the door wide. He showed them around the lavish villa briefly before taking his leave.

Santino stepped into the oak-paneled living room, revelling in the gothic style. He all-but threw himself down onto one of the beautifully upholstered sofas and sighed.

“This will be a week in heaven, don’t you agree, John?” 

When no response came, Santino sat up slightly. He gripped the back of the couch with a frown. 

John was still down the hall, not having followed him in after the doorman had left. He seemed to be checking the door, the hinges, the dead bolt. He then stepped further into the house, his eyes tracing the frame of each and every window.

“John?” Santino repeated in a displeased drawl.

“Only one door at ground level. Most of the windows don’t open and the stained glass will deter any snipers.” John nodded towards a second stairwell. “Escape route into the canal if needed.”

“John…” Santino cut in. “ _ Riposati _ . Relax. We’re on vacation.”

John only frowned reminding Santino that, first and foremost, John Wick is not a man with a ‘relax’ setting and, second, he wasn’t technically on vacation. This was his job.

Rolling his eyes, Santino collapsed back onto the sofa. 

“Alright, do your work.”

John didn’t respond. Santino just heard the decresendo of his footsteps as he walked away.

About a quarter of an hour later, John returned. He came down a set of spiral steps that led from the living room to the lofty master bedroom at the top of the villa. 

Santino had picked up a book and was just coming to the end of the first chapter. As he turned the page, his eyes shifted from the words up to John. 

The man was standing on the other side of the coffee table, staring down at him with his usual void gaze.

“All clear.”

“Is it now?” Santino drawled. He’d wanted to go out, but had been forced to wait for John to complete his checks, despite the villa being the same one his family stayed in anytime they came to Venice. “No monsters under my bed,  _ papà _ ?”

John froze for a fraction of a second before closing his eyes and shaking his head. 

“No, but I moved it out of the window’s sightline,” he replied evenly.

“ _ Bella pensata. _ Good thinking,” Santino sighed. “I wouldn’t want someone to snipe me from the campanile.” Bored, he turned his attention back to his book. 

John stood there for a minute, a soldier waiting for his next orders. When Santino just kept reading, he let out a breath and looked around. There was a chair in front of the empty fireplace a few feet away. He walked over.

Just as he was about to sit down, he heard the snap of Santino’s book coming to a close.

“Let’s go out!” he cheered, shooting up from where he’d been lying only moments before. “I’ll call ahead for dinner somewhere nice.”

John suppressed a groan as he stood, less spry in his movement. He didn’t consider himself an old man, not yet anyway, but Santino was over a decade younger than him. The young crime lord was still that age where every night was full of potential.

He walked behind Santino, heading to the door, when the younger man’s phone pinged. He looked away to avoid eavesdropping, but Santino checked the message, sighed and silenced the ringer before tucking his phone away. This was all done in what seemed like a single movement.

John frowned. It wasn’t like Santino to ignore a message, but he wasn’t one to comment. They’d just stepped outside when his own phone vibrated silently in his pocket. 

He let Santino walk on a few steps ahead as he quickly checked the message.   
‘Fuck you for ghosting on me, you piece of shit.’

Ares. Of course.

A second message pinged up a moment after the first.

‘Where the fuck are you two?’

Santino turned to him just as he was looking up from the message. He caught John’s heavy stare.

“ _ Che fai? _ What are you doing?”

“ _ Niente.  _ Nothing.” 

“ _ Allora andiamo! _ Then let’s go!”

With a sullen nod, John followed after firing off a quick text. He sent Ares his assurance that they were both fine without sending their location. If Santino wanted her to know, he would send it himself, but he was clearly avoiding her and the rest of his work.

It was early, but by the light you’d think they were well into the evening. The sun was dipping below the horizon already as it was wont to do in the mid-winter. The streets were quiet, a few locals out and about, not too many tourists. 

They walked from their villa in the Northern part of San Marco down through the alleys and over narrow canals until they reached Club del Doge in the south. Santino had managed to get them a dinner reservation at the prolific establishment, how he’d managed it with only a few minutes notice, John couldn’t say, but Santino was the kind of man who got what he wanted, no matter the circumstances.

And so the evening found them sitting in a room full of baroque furniture covered with gold leaf. Around them were the other guests, all finely dressed as waiters covered their tables with tiny portions of food worth over a hundred euro per plate.

“Let’s have wine with dinner,” Santino suggested as if they were doing something naughty. 

John didn’t say anything. Technically he shouldn’t drink on the job, but he honestly wasn’t sure what was expected of him in that moment. He’d only been working for the D’Antonios a short time, but this wasn’t the first time Santino had dragged him along on this kind escaped. Usually, though, it wasn’t nearly so elaborate, just a little trip to a nightclub here, stepping out to a bar there. They were the kinds of places John could stand back and let Santino do whatever he wanted. This was far more intimate and, judging by the look on Santino’s face, he was supposed to play along. 

“Wine sounds good,” John replied, though as he picked up the menu he realized that decision was costing them a whole forty euros more. At least this was coming out of the D’Antonios account and not his.

Santino smirked at his expression, but didn’t say anything. When the maître d' appeared at their table, he was quick to order off the set menu for the both of them. Wine appeared like magic in their glasses seconds later.

“You seem out of sorts. What’s the matter, John?”

“Don’t usually eat at places like this,” he said as he tried the wine for himself. It was surprisingly good, or well... unsurprisingly considering the price per glass. Still, he preferred bourbon.

“Well, you’ll have a whole week to get used to it and all the other little pleasures I have in store.”

“Santino…”

The younger man chuckled, but the sound turned into a heady exhale. He leaned back in the gold emblazoned chair, staring at John across the table while he slowly fingered the rim of his glass. 

This was probably the most they’d ever spoken. John had only started living in the household a few months back. Since then, he’d become one of Santino’s many shadows, day and night, standing at his back, silent, secreted, hiding in the darkness.

“What did you do before taking my family’s contract, John?” he asked.

“Other contracts,” John replied, his eyes narrowing. Simple. Vague. Did he even need to answer.

“Alright,” Santino laughed at his own trivial question. “Sure. Of course. Other contracts. You are quite infamous, you know. I suppose that’s why my father wanted you.” 

Dark hooded eyes locked with his, but John didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure if Santino was looking for a response. 

He’d been pretty certain that Santino didn’t like him when he was first brought on. He’d seemed pissed when his sister chose Cassian, despite the fact that the other man was a little less experienced. John had assumed Santino felt like they were just stuck with each other after that, but then the flirting started. It was just a little comment here, a sly wink there, innocuous little things that no one but the two of them could possibly notice. 

John wasn’t sure if Santino was just teasing or if he was serious, but he wasn’t about to ask. The contract he’d signed was fairly strict on the whole matter. In fact, Signore D’Antonio senior had managed to get his team to specifically write up the terms ‘don’t fuck my son’ in very carefully crafted legalese. 

So, John didn’t. He kept Santino at an appropriate, arm’s-length distance… much to the younger man’s obvious contempt. 

This was the first time they were eating together. Though he and Ares were close, Santino had never made a habit of eating with ‘the help’. This was the perfect opportunity to make an exception, the first in his grand plan to make John the exception to all the rules… all of them.

Their meal came in courses, tiny fancy little plates that left your mouth watering, but did little to fill your stomach.

“I’m thinking we get pizza,” Santino said as they walked along the canal after dinner. It was dark and most of the city was closing for the night. 

John hummed, clearly agreeing. Fine dining, he wasn’t used to it, but he got the feeling it always left you hungry.

“Won’t be as good as in Naples,” John warned.

Santino grinned at that. “Of course not,” he said and yet he kept walking. They picked up a margherita pizza at a local stand near their villa and brought it back, sitting on the sofa together as they ate in an amicable silence. It was fine… not as good as in Naples though.

They sat around the empty pizza box for a while before they went off to bed, or at least Santino did. John stayed up to check the doors and windows, that’s what he told Santino anyway. 

“Are you sure I can’t… tempt you,” the younger man said slyly. He had quite the silver tongue, especially after it had been dipped in wine. It served him well in their business but hadn’t yet slipped past John’s armour. “We’re on holiday, after all. You should be allowed to… lighten up.”

John kept his distance. “I’ve still got a job to do.” 

“Yes. Me,” Santino purred. “I am your job.”

“Santino…”

As soon as John took that tone, the younger man sighed, relenting. 

“Fine…  _ Buonanotte,  _ John. Good night.”

“Night.”

They parted with those blunt words. Santino shuffled off to bed, clearly upset at not getting what he wanted for once in his life.

John watched him go, checked the security before going off to bed as well.

—

They woke up early the next morning with the ringing of the bell from the nearby  _ campanile  _ in San Marco’s square. When Santino got up and stepped down to the kitchen in his silk Versace pajamas, John was already fully dressed, up and about making the morning caffé. 

“ _ Buongiorno _ . Good morning,” the man said, eyeing Santino’s elaborate sleep wear before turning back to the espresso machine. The man had to have been a barista or something in a past life. He was working the steamer like a pro.

“ _ ‘Giorno _ . Morning,” Santino muttered in response. “Did anyone try to murder me last night.”

John paused, turing to him with a frown in place.

“No.”

“Good. See. Venice is wonderful. Maybe you can finally relax today, hm?”

John simply blinked as he slowly slid an espresso macchiato across the countertop. It ended up in front of Santino, the rippling steam waking his senses as he inhaled.

“Oh, yes,” Santino all but moaned as he sipped the piping hot caffè.

“ _ Prego.  _ You’re welcome,” John replied quietly. He always had this vague air of discomfort when Santino teased him. The younger man wasn’t sure if it was because he was turned on or off by it, but playing this little guessing game was good fun.

Biting his bottom lip, Santino watched John wander aimlessly around the kitchen.

—

They left the villa before noon to walk around the garden in Castello before finding somewhere to eat near the piazza, but far enough away to avoid the tourist-trap restaurants, as Santino called them. John though was taking in everything with a tourist’s eyes. He wished he had his camera.

The wonder in the eyes of a man known in their world to be one of the best killers of his generation was adorable to Santino. They walked through the not-too-busy streets that February afternoon, over the bridges and towards the piazza. A few shops were open, their wares pouring out into the street attached to wire frames and wood boards.

“Should we get masks? I know it’s disgustingly touristy but...” Santino trailed off, holding up two masks and comparing them to John’s void, expressionless face. The laughing mask was a wrinkled thing that didn’t suit the man at all for obvious reasons while the other, anguished expression went too far the opposite way. 

“ _ Brutto. _ Hideous,” he muttered, putting both back. He tapped his lips, eyeing the wall of souvenirs before plucking up another. A striking black and gold Bauta mask would fit him perfectly. The square angles suited John’s equally sharp features.

“There you are,” he purred.

“Which one for you?” John asked, taking his mask from Santino even though he had no intention to wear it.

“This style, naturally.” Santino said, holding up a swirling mask that seemed to be made of lace and sheet music glazed in deep blue and violet. It framed only his eyes, the green of them standing out against the other cool colours. 

John found himself sucking in a breath.

Santino pulled the mask away with a smirk. “This face is too gorgeous to cover up, no?”

John simply huffed out a sigh. There was a barely visible twitch of his lip that Santino might have missed if he’d blinked. 

“ _ Certo _ . Of course,” he replied softly. 

Santino’s face broke into a smile hearing that. He turned back to the wall of masks, pretending to be unfazed by the compliment. 

“Maybe we get one for Gianna too,” he chuckled, picking up a gaudy pink mask with elaborate spiraling points that were made to look like a jester’s hat tipped with little silver bells.

John hummed. “She’ll hate it.”

“Exactly.”

John shook his head while Santino haggled down an extortionate price. He looked down then up and suddenly a narrow frown passed across his features.

There was a small cafe on the corner. Only a couple tables were outside, both occupied. At one there was a boisterous American couple while at the other, there sat a lone figure. 

He was an elegant, blond man, lean and fashionable. The collar of his chic black trench was pulled up high, obscuring his features slightly. He was looking towards them, sipping an espresso when John caught his eye. As soon as their gazes met he looked away sliding open a nokia phone and distracting himself by reading whatever message had popped up on screen.

“John!” 

John turned away from the man to see Santino giving him a look.

“I called you once already. I don’t like repeating myself.”

“Sure.” John tucked his hands into his pockets. He cast one last look back at the stranger who had now finished his coffee and was getting up to leave. With a curious hum, John strolled up along side Santino, taking the bag from him without being asked.

Santino seemed pleased with that. 

“Alright, where to now, John. You pick.”

John knew they’d been heading to the piazza so he just said that. His mind was elsewhere in that moment. 

Santino hadn’t seemed to noticed. He simply led John through the streets he seemed to be very familiar with, stopping at a few boutiques on the way. 

“How often do you come here?” John asked.

“Once or twice a year,” Santino said with a shrug. “It’s a nice place to holiday if you pick the right season.” 

They’d clearly picked the right season. Relative to the summer months, Piazza San Marco was only filled with what Santino considered a ‘countable’ number of sightseers. Technically they were included in that number, but Santino didn’t consider himself a tourist in his own country, despite his recent purchases.

While the square was a fabulous view with the basilica and the bell tower, John was far too concerned with the amount of open space. As he watched Santino wander further into the middle of the square, he could feel his anxiety rise.

“Santino…”

“What? I haven’t even done anything,” Santino snapped like a defensive child. “You always say my name like that when…”

“You shouldn’t be out in the open like this.”

Santino rolled his eyes. “What did I tell you before? Relax.”

John simply looked at him with a cold unshakable gaze.

“Alright, fine,” Santino moved closer to where John was beneath the covered corridore surrounding the piazza. There was no one else around, everyone was scattered about nearer to the basilica. 

Santino sighed. He looked down the barren corridore, bored, until his gaze landed on Florian. The gourmet cafe was lit with a warm orange glow just across the piazza.

“Dessert?” Santino asked with a wink.

John opened his mouth about to drawl out his name with his usual exasperation, when suddenly he pushed Santino bodily against one of the stone pillars. 

Santino let out a muffled complaint against John’s chest, but then there came a distinct sound. It was a suppressed pop, like a rock being thrown at a wall. Part of the pillar above them shattered as a bullet tore through the stone right next to the place where Santino’s head had been barely moments before.

His body still fully covering Santino’s, John reached into his jacket and retrieved his gun.

“Don’t move,” he grunted.

Sinking low, John leaned out catching a glimpse of his target before the man could adjust his aim. It was the blond from the cafe… of course. 

John had been suspicious: the glance, the phone… he should have trusted his instincts.

A shot ricocheted off the ground.

“ _ Merda!  _ Shit!” Santino hissed. “John! Do something!”

John moved to the other side of the column, reached around and shot.

The would-be assassin, having no clue which way he’d come from, was forced to duck into the doorway of a shop that was closed for the winter season. As soon as John saw him move, he did as well. He rushed to the next column, edging ever so much closer to their assailant without his notice. 

When the assassin came out from his cover, aim still directed towards Santino, John was right next to him. Point blank, a bullet tore through his skull. 

The body collapsed and John tucked his gun away. He looked around. 

Amazingly, their side of the square where the line of shops were mostly closed was void of witnesses. Apart from one… 

Santino rolled around the corner of the pillar where he’d been hiding. There was a strange smile on his face.

“Twenty five.”

“What?”

“Twenty five,” Santino repeated softly, walking right up to John where the man stood over his would-be assassin. “How many times you’ve killed for me.”

A breath of time passed between them, before Santino broke the lull. Balancing himself with one hand on John’s chest, he craned his neck and pressed a kiss to the man’s lips. It was a soft, chaste thing, barely a touch, but he could feel John’s lips part beneath his. The man sucked in a breath.

Just as he was about to pull away, John reached out. He took hold of the knot on Santino’s tie, pulling him in. John wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline from the attack or the build up after months of Santino’s teasing, but something in him finally snapped. He was succumbing to something, both internal and external, as he leaned in pressing his lips to Santino’s.

John went deep. After months of Santino’s tortuous flirting, this was the levee breaking. Wet and heated, he moaned against the other man’s lips, parting them before delving inside with his tongue. He pressed Santino into one of the nearby alcoves, squeezing the younger man between his larger body and the wall. 

Santino wasn’t one to melt into John’s domination, no, he gave as good as he got. He kissed back, hands reaching to clasp John’s neck and jaw, pulling him in deeper. John was all around him, the man’s long hair, disheveled from the fight fell to curtain their kiss. The sandalwood musk of his cologne had Santino shaking as his lower abdomen grew tight.

They gasped into each other’s mouths and Satino took that moment to lick along John’s bottom lip before the man captured his mouth again.

Then as suddenly as he’d swooped in, John pulled back. 

“Fuck,” he hissed.

“Yes,” Santino all-but moaned at what he took as a suggestion. He grabbed hold of John’s tie, trying to draw him in for another kiss, but the man craned back.

“Santino… We can’t.” John hissed. “I can’t.”

“Rules?”

John nodded.

Santino rolled his eyes. Of course. He’d scanned the contract his father’s associates had written up. Both he and Gianna had a good time laughing at the addendum that their new bodyguards weren’t even allowed to think about touching them. The siblings had joked about it until they were confronted with John and Cassian. That had been jarring to say the least. Why would their father hire the two of the most fuckable assassins in the business only to hand them the mandate ‘do not fuck’? Such a waste...

With a sigh, Santino leaned in again, ever so slowly pressing another soft kiss to John’s lips.

“Deal with this,” he ordered, nodding to the now-faceless corpse they’d both nearly forgotten about. “Then later we can talk about these… stipulations in your contract.”

—

John dragged the body past an empty luxury art store, through a small alleyway where the narrow walls were covered in graffiti on one side and lined with payphones on the other. He dumped their attacker into an unattended gondola that was tied up beneath the nearby bridge and quickly recovered the long boat.

He stood and turned to see that Santino hadn’t followed him. The man was one bridge away, grinning as he watched John dispose of a body.

“It’s fun watching you work, John,” he purred.

Mirroring each other, they walked along their respective paths, stepping down from the bridges and meeting in the narrow alley.

“ _ Andiamocene _ . Let’s get out of here,” Santino said, nodding his head, a secret smile across his lips.

John looked down at the other man, took a deep breath and replied:

“Sure.”

—

As soon as they walked in the door, Santino threw off his jacket, tossing it over a chair before he collapsed onto the couch in the living room. Sitting there, John couldn’t help but think he looked strangely underdressed even though he was still wearing his waistcoat. 

Santino patted the spot next to him, his brow raised expectantly.

John wasn’t hesitant, but he was stiff. He sat rigidly, his hands on his knees, legs spread in an overly upright posture. He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting downward for a tense moment before he could bring himself to look into Santino’s expectant eyes.

“I’m here to protect you. I can’t—”

Santino dragged his fingers along John’s collar bone before cupping the man’s bearded jawline.

“ _ Taci _ ... Shut up…” he hissed.

Their lips met and John melted, if only for a second. An exhale left him as if he’d taken a blow to the chest. Santino’s devilish persistence had him leaning in until the rational part of his mind forced him to pull back and turn away.

“Santino… I signed a contract with your—”

As John was just about to get that last word out, Santino’s hand slipped roughly into his lap, over the juncture of his hip crease, between his legs. John’s voice melted into a heavy exhale. The warmth of Santino’s palm cupped the growing bulge in his pants. He groaned. The heat of Santino’s fingers slipping between his legs drew a shiver through his core.

“Santi—”

Again, Santino cut John off. There was nothing gentle in the way he gripped John between his legs. His digits spread to put pressure over John’s clothed cock, enough to make his hips jerk up into it in a single shuddering thrust.

“Fuck,” John sighed, giving in to the pleasure.

“That’s it, John,” Santino said as he moved in closer. He lined his body up along side John’s, pressing himself into the larger man’s heat. “Fuck the contract. Fuck the consequences.”

John kissed him then, a deep and desperate thing as he pulled Santino’s body closer. The younger man soon slid up into his lap. Chest to chest, they broke the kiss only to moan as their bodies rocked together, so close for the first time. They were both flush from the heat, panting into each other’s mouths as they moved.

John’s hands dragged up along Santino’s clothed back, slipping under his waistcoat and tugging on his shirt. He pressed the smaller man’s lower back, urging him closer. His face buried into Santino’s neck, inhaling deeply, taking in his scent and that earthy cinnamon spice cologne he had made by a perfumer in Florence. 

Santino realized then that he’d never kissed a man like John. The assassin was over a decade older than him, rough and hardened in a way that all the boys before him couldn’t hold a candle to. His beard scratched at Santino’s lips, plumping his skin, making the sensations more and more salient until his mind was a blank slate and nothing except John’s hands and lips and body registered.

John too was mesmerized by the moment. Santino was young and lithe, demanding and persistent. His energy was contagious and John was determined to tire them both out before the night was over.

His hands were working on the buttons of Santino’s waistcoat and pulling up his tucked in shirt to slip over his bare skin when Santino pulled back, breaking their kiss.

His hands pressed to John’s chest until the man drew away with a frown creasing his brow. 

“Bed,” Santino breathed.

John inhaled sharply and pressed a final kiss to Santino’s lips before standing abruptly. He lifted the man in his lap with him, carrying him in strong arms. The smaller man held on, wrapped around him like a twining vine. John walked them all the way up the spiraling stairs to the master bedroom in the attic. The evening light streamed through the window, illuminating the bed with its warm orange glow. 

John lay Santino down on the sheets before standing over him. He plucked the button off his trousers and slipped the fabric down his legs. 

“Very sexy, John,” Santino teased with a chuckle before John cut into his laughter by dipping down for another kiss.

They undressed each other with wild abandon between caresses. The clothes were thrown without care into haphazard piles around all four corners of the bed.

Santino wasn’t sure if he spread his legs or if John had forced them apart, but as soon as he was open the older man’s weight settled over him. Their naked bodies met, skin touching skin for the first time. 

Santino closed his eyes. He could feel the heat of John’s exhales tracing a line down his throat. Running his fingers through his own curls, Santino let out a strangled gasp as the man’s stubble scratched over a sensitive nipple before the soothing warmth of his mouth closed around the peaked nub.

The fingers not in his hair gripped John’s shoulder, digging into his tightly wound muscle, urging him down, lower. Hot breath on his abdomen had him shuddering. His knees went weak and shook as they pressed desperately against the ripped torso of the man hovering between them.

John stilled between Santino’s wide spread legs. He pressed wet, teasing kisses along the jut of the younger man’s narrow hips, stalling. 

Santino was not one to beg, so he simply dug his nails into John’s skin, biting into his flesh without mercy.

“Fuck,” he heard John breathe as the man’s hips gave a short, barely perceptible thrust down against the mattress.

Now there was something to remember for later.

For now, Santino’s mind went black. A rush of heat spread up through him from where John’s mouth took him in. It was better than he could have possibly imagined. All those glances he sent the man, the secret smiles, the double entendres shot John’s way just to get a reaction, all of it for this. He’d always imagined John would be hesitant, or awkward, that he’d have to teach the hardened assassin how to use his hands to bring pleasure instead of pain. But no. 

John was as skilled in bed as he was when given any task. Focused. Committed. And the sheer fucking pleasure of his mouth bobbing between Santino’s legs had the younger man carving welts into his tattoo. Fortune favors the bold, indeed. 

With a groan, John pulled off and looked up, his dark eyes darker beneath the line of his brow. He reached between Santino’s legs, his fingers wet with lube from the bedside table. The pad of his index finger traced over Santino’s quivering entrance in a slow deliberate way that had him quaking against the mattress.

“ _ Pronto? _ Ready?”

“Fuck, John,” Santino hissed before dissolving into a flurry of Italian expletives. He arched down into the press of John’s fingers, pulling them in deep. It wasn’t long before John was fucking him with his hand, nearly to the palm while his thumb ran gently between his balls.

It was like something out of a bad porno. John sat up, kneeling between his legs. He jerked his hand in and out of Santino’s body, practically moving him up the bed with the force of his thrusts.

Santino was gasping for breath. He opened his eyes for a second and he wasn’t sure if it was the sight or the press of John’s fingertips against his prostate that pushed him over. John was staring down at him, dark eyes ravenous, his neglected cock stiff between his legs, waiting ever so patiently to take the place of his pistoning fingers. 

Toes curling, Santino arched back and came across his lower abdomen without a touch, his muscles shuddering beneath the lines of white streaked over his belly. Like an animal, John leaned forward, laving his tongue through the mess before he kissed his way back up along the length of Santino’s heaving torso.

When their lips met, Santino could taste his own salty tang on the older man’s tongue.

“ _ Bestia… _ Beast…” he whispered against the other man’s lips.

John kissed him again. His hands were all over Santino, touching him like a man starved of physical contact. Truth be told, he only had himself to blame. Santino would have taken John to bed nearly day one if he’d been willing. But no, the animal in John had to be lured. When it came out though, oh, Santino was more than ready.

John leaned over him, elbow on the bed, fingers slipping through Santino’s hair while between his legs, he stroked the heavy length of his cock, slicking it with lube, letting the wet tip run over the younger man’s entrance. Again and again he teased, until Santino reached up and gripped the flesh below his ribs, pulling John off balance and forcing the man down on top of him.

“If you tease me any longer I’ll have you killed,” he snapped breathlessly.

John paused a moment. Then, with utter delicacy, he leaned in and pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to Santino’s lips.

“ _ Potresti provare.  _ You could try.”

John thrust forward.

Santino’s neck arched as he tilted his head back, letting out a chesty moan. He wrapped his legs around John’s waist and dug his heels into his lower back. His body opened and he let every inch sink in.

John was still breathing steadily, though Santino could hear a shudder in his exhale when he finally bottomed out. 

The tight heat around the girth of his cock was almost unbearable. Slipping into Santino was already intense, a sensation he’d never felt before. It had never been this good. There had never been months of buildup and teasing and pure wanton lust. All of that coming to this, meeting in this bed. It was like fucking heaven.

He started slow. Drawing in and out. Too slow. Too gentle. He knew. He could tell from the way Santino’s nails were clawing into the spaces between his ribs. The younger man wanted it hard; he wanted to be taken and pounded senseless. But John waited to give him the satisfaction. He let the anticipation build.

Santino could have screamed. His thighs tightened around John’s hips, but the man was too strong. He kept his agonizing pace.

“ _ È tortura _ . This is torture,” he hissed. John only grunted in response.

Torture could only last so long. Even John had his limits. He couldn’t resist. 

It started when he pulled out, to the tip, and thrust back in, fast and deep. 

Santino bit his bottom lip, but a strangled moan still managed to escape him.

The room was sweltering hot, even in mid-winter. They were both a mess. Santino’s curls were disheveled while John’s long black tresses were dangling in a disarrayed curtain around his face. They were both panting, the sounds of their breath the only sound apart from the wet slap of overstimulated flesh meeting flesh again and again.

Santino arched up, rocking his hips back to meet every thrust. He planted his feet on the bed and reached between his wide spread thighs, taking himself in hand. He thrust into his own fist in time with the erratic pistoning of the man above him. 

The intensity of the pleasure when he hit his peak was near blackout intoxicating. Santino shuddered, letting himself go immediately so John could fuck him over the edge of oblivion. His cock gave a jerk with every move inside him as heat spread from his core and overwhelmed his entire body.

As Santino grew impossibly tight around him, John pulled out. 

Santino lay there, panting in the bliss of his second orgasm, as John kneeled above him, stroking his cock. The older man was tugging at it like he was cocking a shotgun with long slow pulls until he shot all across Santino’s still twitching length. 

John groaned at the sight of his utterly debauched young ward before closing his eyes to revel in the bliss of coming undone.

Seemingly in a daze, Santino trailed his fingers through the blended mess on his heaving stomach. He waited for John to look him square in the eye before he sucked one long digit between his lips, trailing it over his tongue before closing his mouth around the tip. The promise of next time was already glowing in his heady gaze.

The only thing going through John’s mind was: Fuck. Let old Signore D’Antonio come after him. The breach of contract was more than worth it.

He pressed a kiss to Santino’s shoulder before climbing out of bed. There was an en-suite in the master bedroom. John slipped in and out, bringing a warm damp cloth with him. He made quick work of cleaning them both up. 

Santino sighed. He looked like he was already drifting off into a blissful slumber, but when John moved away to toss the cloth into the sink he returned to see hooded eyes on him. A hand lifted from the sheets, extended towards him, demanding.

John took Santino’s hand and climbed into bed beside him. He hadn’t taken him for a cuddler.

“John...”

“Hm?” Came the older man’s exhausted reply. 

“I meant what I said before.”

John opened his eyes, staring up at his ward-turned-lover with masked curiosity.

Santino held his gaze, his eyes cool yet seductive.

“Fuck the contract.”

Santino leaned over him, capturing his lips in another searing kiss. John couldn’t help but suck in a breath. He closed his eyes reaching up to cup Santino’s cheek, succumbing to the kiss. This young man had him wrapped around his little finger in just one night. 

Santino broke away slowly, opening those bedroom eyes of his. He leaned his cheek into John’s palm, practically purring while his devilish gaze glowed.

“You work for me, John. Capisci? Understand?”

“ _ Certo. _ Of course,” came John’s whispered reply. Loyal to a fault, he pressed a final kiss to Santino’s lips.

“ _ Servirò _ . I will serve.”

— FINO — END —

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3 And if you already read A Change Of Plan thank you for coming back!  
> —  
> Your kudos will serve  
> Your comments will be of service


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